


Bliss on Baker Street

by summercarntspel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Affectionate Sherlock, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Disputes, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 05:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4551666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summercarntspel/pseuds/summercarntspel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of oneshots, long and short, centered around Sherlock and John's life, relationship, and domestic rows in and around 221B Baker Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bliss on Baker Street

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this series came out of nowhere, so I'm not sure how many chapters it will have in the end, but I really enjoyed writing this first one.
> 
> If Sherlock is a bit OOC, I apologize. I was having trouble getting my Sherlock muse to cooperate.

When Dr. John Watson finally opened the front door to 221B Baker Street, he felt the tension caused by a long day of work begin to ease, if only a bit. He was home.

His day had dragged on, if he was honest, and it had been dull. He'd seen his normal kinds of patients; he saw ones with aches and pains, ones with coughs and sniffles, and ones with odd rashes in odder places.

His most difficult patient of the day had come in the form of an overly snarky teenage girl who glared daggers at him when he informed her that, due to her age, he had to inform her mother of the results of her STI testing.

All in all, not a bad day, really. Still, he felt tired and his back and feet ached, and he was happy to come home to the man he loved.

That happiness, sadly, only lasted approximately three and a half seconds after he ascended the stairs inside the front door and entered the flat.

"Where the _hell_ were you?" spat an angry voice, accusation and irritation quite clearly painting each and every word, and John sighed as he hung up the jacket he wore over his gray-blue jumper.

"Work, Sherlock. You know, that place I go so we can avoid getting evicted and buy silly things like, I dunno, groceries?" John responded, sarcasm evident in his words but not in the tone he used, knowing to tread lightly for the time being.

Sherlock, who was sprawled out on the couch, wrapped up in a sheet and, ridiculously enough, his house coat, worn over the top of it, opened his eyes and sat up to glare at John, reminding him that the bloody teenager had nothing on his brooding boyfriend.

"You," Sherlock began, his tone going icy and sharp in a way that, embarrassingly, made John want to squirm, in spite of his military training and all the horrors he'd seen, "You should have been home forty-five minutes ago. There are taxis all over and, even if there weren't, you could have walked home in under forty-five minutes. Where were you?"

Rolling his eyes, John crossed his arms over his chest before he took a few long strides across the sitting room to plop down in one of the chairs.

"If you must know, one of my colleagues is pregnant-"

"Irrelevant and dull, John."

"Damn it, let me finish! She's pregnant and one of her patients had what a nurse diagnosed as a fairly contagious rash, and she was worried about handling it, so I took over. The tests ran longer than I thought they would, and I didn't have good mobile service in the room I was using."

Sherlock furrowed his brow and glared at John once again, then flopped back down into a lying position on the sofa.

"I've been going mad over a case for the last three bloody days and when the answer is finally on the tip of my tongue-which, by the way, is a stupid and inaccurate expression-the one thing that I need to think is gone for even longer than he should have been, only to bring home a batch of contagious germs. Good." Sherlock complained, staring at the ceiling in a childish, cranky fashion.

John just rolled his eyes again, the smallest hint of a small smile playing on his lips, "You didn't just miss me, then? Only needed me around to think?"

There was a beat of silence, then another, and then Sherlock let out a loud huff of a sigh.

"Of _course_ I missed you, but you know how I am when I'm solving a case, and I need you around to help me think, John."

Satisfied, at least for the moment, the good doctor settled back against the chair, crossing his legs at the ankle and staring at the younger man.

"Well, I'm here now," he stated, if only to annoy Sherlock a bit by offering him an obvious fact, "Think away, love."

And Sherlock did, closing his gorgeous seafoam eyes and bringing the pads of his fingers to his temples, letting John's presence clear the thick, foggy layer of unhelpful gunk out of his mind.

That gunk never existed before John was around, of that he was certain, but now, when they were apart, the mess liked to take residence in his brain and make incredibly difficult deductions nearly impossible.

Regardless, they remained in those exact positions for quite some time, but John wasn't sure on an exact number. After all, he customarily gave up on counting after the ten minute mark.

Suddenly, as if the couch was perhaps on fire, Sherlock sprung up in an impressive leap, grabbing his mobile and typing out a message to Lestrade regarding the true murderer, then practically skipping over to John, tugging the other man to his feet and giggling with childish abandon at the grunting noises that came from his boyfriend.

"John, I told you! You were all I needed to solve the case," Sherlock insisted, almost too excited, his eyes glimmering with a mix of emotions John couldn't quite place.

John squeezed Sherlock's hands, which were still trapping his own, and laced their fingers together, just allowing the other man to have this moment of bliss.

Besides, it was kind of bloody adorable.

Sherlock leaned in then, capturing John's lips with his own in a searing kiss, pulling back after far too short of a time, as far as John was concerned.

"Come then, we've got to meet Lestrade at the crime scene, the killer is sure to be there now," Sherlock babbled, swinging their hands for a moment before he tugged away, unceremoniously shedding his house coat and the billowing sheet as he headed for their shared bedroom, giving John a quick peek at his stupidly perfect arse before he disappeared from the doorway.

John sighed, as John always did, but he couldn't hide his happy, content little smile as he went for his coat once again, pulling it over his jumper.

When Sherlock emerged from their room, he was in his normal criminal chasing outfit, looking dapper as ever as he pulled on his coat and turned the collar up.

He pecked John's lips once more, then led the way to the door.

"When we get back, remind me to show you that I did, indeed, miss you."

John blushed, a soft chuckle escaping him as he followed Sherlock down the stairs.

He opened his mouth to reply just as Sherlock added, "Although, we could have done this a hell of a lot sooner if you would have come home on time."

Then, the only thing that left John's lips was a huff and an annoyed retort of, "Listen here, Holmes!"

Their argument flared, as it always did, as they entered the taxi and headed towards the crime scene, but, as always, their hands were clasped together between them as they spat insults back and forth, bickering and whining just like an old married couple.

And, as far as John was concerned, that was perfectly alright by him.


End file.
